


"Relax, have a drink with me."

by aidennestorm



Series: Hamilton Prompt Table (Lin-Manuel Miranda Lyrics Edition) [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Bad Decisions, Drinking, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rank Disparity, Unresolved Sexual Tension, thirsty boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: It's like the setup of an old, terrible joke:An unsuspecting lieutenant walks into a bar and finds the man of his dreams, except...





	"Relax, have a drink with me."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamlittleyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/gifts).



He almost doesn't recognize Washington, at first.

Though he spends too much of his time memorizing the broadness of Washington’s shoulders— the way he fills out his uniform— the strength in his muscled arms— he still jolts a little in surprise when he sees Washington at the bar. He’s relaxed with the kind of effortless ease of a man with confidence. Who knows his place in the world. Who knows exactly what he wants.

He’s exactly the kind of man Hamilton would pick up if he wasn’t _Washington,_ and it sends a guilty thrill through Hamilton’s stomach that right now, he’s even still entertaining the possibility.

 _Walk the fuck away,_ he tells himself, but he’s never been able to listen to his better judgment. 

He approaches the bar; the bartender nods at him in acknowledgement, and Hamilton slides onto the empty seat beside Washington. “Fancy seeing you, sir.”

He hopes the flash of mortification doesn’t show on his face. _Oh my god why the fuck would you say that, are you a relic from the twentieth goddamn century?_

Washington’s mouth slides into a rueful curl. “I didn’t realize you’d confined me to the ship.”

Hamilton freezes, just a little bit, until Washington bumps him with his elbow. “I’m joking, Alexander. Relax. We’ve earned our shore leave.”

“That’s for damn sure,” he agrees, even as he slides a quick glance at the drink in Washington’s hand. Not Terran, based on the neon purple color, so it’s strong. Mostly empty. Hamilton’s skin feels overheated from the short burst of contact with Washington’s arm. 

_This is a bad idea._

“A round,” he says, pointing to Washington’s drink. “Make mine a double.”

Washington raises an eyebrow. “Starting the festivities early?”

Hamilton grins, all teeth. Unable to blame the alcohol when he says, throwing all remaining good sense and caution to the wind, “Gotta catch up with you first, sir.”

He’s not sure how Washington will react. Washington should lecture him. Remind him that they are captain and lieutenant, for god’s sake, and fraternizing even casually invites a host more problems than any amount of gain.

Instead, Washington grins back and downs the rest of his drink in one swallow.

 _This is a fucking_ phenomenally _bad idea._

———

“— and I’m standing there, wearing nothing but a damn… what are they called, a toga? From Old Earth Rome?”

Hamilton’s Academy courses had indeed included ancient history, and he can clearly imagine Washington in one of those pieces of cloth draped over his broad, bare chest, nothing more than that cloth protecting him from wandering eyes and hands...

He chokes on the last of his drink.

 _“Slow,”_ Washington admonishes, knocking Hamilton on the back with a heavy hand. Hamilton shudders, as much from Washington’s firm grasp now on his shoulder as from trying to take gulps of air through his burning throat. “I think you’ve had enough, my boy.”

“I’ve only had… three,” Hamilton rasps in protest, peering into his empty glass. “No. Four.”

“Still keeping up with me, I see,” Washington says, clinking their glasses together. And truly, it’s not fair— Washington seems as unaffected as he did when Hamilton walked up, albeit a little more… tactile and exuberant, whereas Hamilton feels like he’s swimming. “But it’s time to get you laying down.”

 _Laying down_ and _Washington_ are _not_ two things Hamilton wants in the same thought, but it’s difficult to break away when Washington swipes his credit chit and puts an arm around Hamilton’s waist, leading him away from the bar and out of the noisy crowd of patrons. Washington is so warm, a sturdy weight supporting him, and it feels so _good_ as they meander down the narrow hallway of the establishment, leaning his head on Washington’s shoulder, and it almost feels like Washington pulls him a little closer, but that can’t be _right—_

He stumbles and nearly falls out of Washington’s arms when he finally spots his guest rooms, a potent wave of relief and disappointment overtaking him. “This is me,” he says with a careless wave of his hand. Washington stops him in front of the door as he fumbles with his key pass.

“I’ve got it.” Washington plucks the thing out of his fingers, a careless brush of skin that makes Hamilton’s skin prickle, and unlocks the door with ease. A few lumbering steps and they’re inside, the door sliding shut behind them, Washington’s hands steadying him once more.

Hamilton feels hot all of a sudden, restless and unsettled in his skin. He struggles with his shirt, trying to pull it off over his head, because he needs to be cooler _now_ _,_ and hears rather than sees Washington stiffen, clear his throat, mumble, “I should— I should go.”

His hands are still on Hamilton’s waist.

He finally tears the damn thing off, stands in front of Washington shirtless, his hair falling out of his bun. Washington stares at him, looking dazed and stunned and speechless. His eyes flick down Hamilton’s bare torso, his swallow unmistakable.

Hamilton takes a small step further into the circle of Washington’s arms, raises his hands, and rests them on Washington’s chest. “Stay.”

“Alexander…”

“George,” he whispers. Breaking every rule he’s ever made for himself, because out here— outside the safety of his mind, within every regulation that says this is _wrong,_ Washington is always _Sir_ _._ Always _Captain._

Always untouchable.

Washington closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been A Bit of a Day the last couple months, so please know that if you've commented on something of mine and I haven't gotten back yet, I will, and thank you. :) I'm no longer actively posting on tumblr after their fuckery-- you can still view my blog if you want, but I will be starting to post soon on [dreamwidth](https://aidennestorm.dreamwidth.org/), and that's where you'll be able to find me from now on (besides here on AO3, of course).


End file.
